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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24494473">and the trumpets will call you home</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hxlcyon/pseuds/hxlcyon'>hxlcyon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, also whoops this fic came out more romantic than i thought, hAHAH DON'T @ ME IM SAD LOL, its okay u get to party with lif afterwards at 7/11, no yeah this is angst lol sorry, uhh spoilers for book 3?? was it??? i spedrun through heroes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:06:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,350</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24494473</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hxlcyon/pseuds/hxlcyon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>the horns in the distance remind him of all that could've been.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alfonse/Summoner | Eclat | Kiran, slight Anna/Sharon | Sharena</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>and the trumpets will call you home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hi call me simpin for every blue lord in fe like ever<br/>Didi if ur reading this this is 4 u and ily<br/>also this isn't beta'd so please don't mind all of the mistakes</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He didn't think it was possible, and if it weren't for the ring of cheers bursting through his ears, Alphonse wouldn't have comprehended that <em>yes, this is real. You did it, everyone's safe and everything wasn't for nothing</em>. The organ in his hand was still now, and naught was left except for the remains of Hel's scythe splayed across her throne.</p><p>To watch death itself die was a bittersweet sort of irony in itself.</p><p>There's still blood on his hands, <em>whose?</em> He wasn't sure of, and there's still an ache in his muscles from the tireless march of battle—to swing his sword, over and over and over to the point that he's lost count of how many bodies lay at his feet.</p><p>Hel says nothing as she dies. She only reminds him, ever quietly, a ghost of a whisper in his ear, that even with her death to his pile of bodies, that it wasn't the end. For people like him, a hero, happy endings only belonged in the tales of bards and was destined to never be his reality.</p><p>The truth of it is edged, curved into the smile of a scythe. He feels the warning with every beat in his chest. It was close this time, but will the next be so easy? This was only but another battle fought, another war won. How many more must come, how many must fall before it is done?</p><p>
  <em>What would you have done father?</em>
</p><p>He's far too young to be aching so, and his knees threaten to hit the ground under the weight of sins too heavy when there's a touch on his shoulder. And, like that, the fears and the grief silence themselves when he hears their voice, the soft awakening of his name—who he still is—snapping him back to reality.</p><p>"Alfonse." The Summoner looks as battered as he does, grime-streaked with fatigue settled into their skin. Yet, he sees past the torn fabric of white robes, in the impossibleness of it, a smile; something hopeful, and brilliantly, blindingly radiant all at once. Somehow here, in the bleakness of death and war, the Summoner managed to stand tall, a beacon of hope—a light amidst the darkness.</p><p>
  <em>Soft, they were too soft and too fragile and he was afraid at any moment a stray arrow would come and they would fall and fall and he wouldn't be able to reach them in time and the vision wouldn't leave his head.</em>
</p><p>They repeat his name again like its something reverent and everything is okay when they take his hands into theirs. "We won, we can go home."</p><p>That's all Alfonse had ever wanted, a safe Askr, a safe home.</p><p>And when the Summoner wraps their arms around him, Alfonse doesn't think of the empty throne waiting for him. He doesn't think of his father, six feet under (<em>oh, father, are you proud of me? Is this what kings must do?</em>). He only pulls the Summoner closer, a sweet relief filling his soul as they curl into him.</p><p>His head still thrums with adrenaline and his hands are shaky but he pushes forward nevertheless, a soldier until even the end. Victory, they've won against Hel, won against Sutr. They could do anything now.</p><p>He looks at their army, broken, battered, but still standing, still here. Alive. And that's more than enough for him when he raises his sword, loud cries resounding all across the battlefield in response to conquering the impossible.</p><p>The march back is long, but the burning in his muscles is nothing compared to the elation in his chest as he sees the heroes around him, proud and whole, reveling in today's victory.</p><p>Back in Askr, the revelry begins immediately. Banners of gold and white stream across the towns as people pour out to celebrate the heroes's return. Anna, ever a creature of habit, uses the excuse to host a meet and greet for gold. But, after a stern look and a half-hearted debate, the idea is scrapped as the castle gates are thrown wide open instead—allowing one and all to celebrate in tandem.</p><p>Alfonse is too tired to dress himself up for it, everyone is, but he manages to change his blood-soaked shirt and scrub off the dirt buried beneath his nails to something called presentable before he goes out.</p><p>Events are already in full swing when he arrives. In the grand hall, he watches as Anna is swept into a whirling dance by his sister—giggles bubbling from the princess as she pulls her into a messy waltz that the commander reluctantly accepts—even if the blush on her cheeks was anything but subtle.</p><p>Meanwhile, Veronica is looking into the distance with an odd sort of expression. He can see questions buried just beneath her tongue, and there's a hesitance to her as she regards the Askr ballroom with a certain distaste. But, her doubt is overridden by her curiosity as the crash of Hector's and Ephraim's arm-wrestling catches her attention instead.</p><p> Amidst all this though, the one who catches his eye is Eir. She is silent, and he does not say anything to her even as she slips past him. Mother, mother written in her eyes. Their gaze meets only once, and in it, he sees something pained and fragile and loud. She turns away from him just as quickly, as if he wasn't meant to see whatever she had tucked away into her clipped smile, and he thinks, as he watches her leave, that he can see the weight of the ghosts that rest upon her shoulders.</p><p>And, that's all he does. He watches as everyone blurs together in their joy, a kaleidoscope of figures dancing, laughing, and celebrating in a vision of colors. They feel so far beyond him, a world he could almost, barely touch. Yet, he remains content to watch from the background.</p><p>He isn't alone for long. There's a bump against his side, a wry smile on their face as the Summoner comes into view. Dazzling, glorious, <em>his</em> Summoner, and he can scarcely contain his own grin as he leans against them, ever a comforting weight at his side, "Tired already?"</p><p>"No, just missing a certain prince." He short-circuits for a moment, a warmth spreading through his skin as he swivels his head to look around. His eye snaps on blue hair, then blonde, then red, and Alfonse can't help the disappointment that creeps into him then.</p><p>"Ah.. would you like me to help you look?"</p><p>"Nah." Amused, they add on. "Just stay with me."</p><p>"I.. I can do that." His voice cracked, just the slightest, as he turned back forwards. His pulse was racing, and he needed to get it out before it was too late.</p><p>
  <em>Arrows descended from the sky, a shower of pointed judgment. It is not him who receives the death sentence.</em>
</p><p>"Summoner, there's something I've wanted to say to you for a long time.." It felt right, at the peak of their glory, there was scarcely another opportunity like this. The Summoner looks at him, lips parted in anticipation, and he feels the words buried so deeply into his heart begin to overflow. It's all he can do rein in his self-control, just barely able to control the tidal wave that is his confession from breaking past the walls of his lips.</p><p>But, then he remembers.</p><p>They never get to hear him say it.</p><p>His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Lif looks into the fading face of the Summoner as his world fades into oblivion. He remembers the screaming, the emptiness, the desolation. And, oh, <em>oh</em> he sees it, and he hears it, and it gnaws into his skin, stains into him an imprint in the guise of rendered flesh and hollowed souls.</p><p>All that could've been, the dreamer thinks as he wakes up.</p><p>Lif opens his eyes.</p><p>In the distance, he hears the horns and cries. A warning, a calling. The grip on his blade is painful when he finally sees it.</p><p>A sea of gold and white, home.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>follow me @ yooroury everywhere!! and uhhhhhhh yeah talk to me abt chrom i LOVE that man (so why am i writing for lif?? idk man sans man sorta hot)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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